


The Runaway Found

by lazarus_girl



Category: Faking It (TV 2014)
Genre: F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-23
Updated: 2017-02-23
Packaged: 2018-09-26 11:46:06
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,323
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9895142
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lazarus_girl/pseuds/lazarus_girl
Summary: Invited to be chief bridesmaids at Lauren’s wedding, Karma and Amy get caught up in the occasion. After months of living together as roommates, their friendship crosses lines it never did when they were back in high school. The fallout causes Karma to re-evaluate everything, including the girl she once was and the woman she’s become.“Maybe last night was the ending.”





	

**Author's Note:**

> Future fic. Follows canon. Karmy centric, but mentions past relationships. I played with time and structure here here for fun to create little memory vignettes to fill in backstory. Title from/inspired by the The Veils album of the same name. I know it’s been forever since I wrote anything, but life and academic commitments have gotten in my way. I’m so glad to be writing again. Thank you for everyone who’s contacted me with questions about the progress of this. I hope it was worth the wait.

_“I didn’t dare think of the future; the past was still happening.”  
_ – John Grisham, _The Street Lawyer_.

***

It’s a little late for modesty.

A wedding. That’s all it took to get you to cross the line with Amy. A wedding. The irony of it isn’t lost on you. Neither is the symmetry. It wasn’t your wedding, or even hers. There were no confessions of love during the “forever hold your peace” part of the ceremony, because _really_ ? But also because it was Lauren’s wedding. Lauren’s picture-perfect-Pinterest-ready extravaganza of a wedding got you over the line. It’s a horrendous cliché, even before you get to the fact that you both have fucking _terrible_ timing and everything you’re feeling right now is at least a decade delayed. Truthfully, if it were anyone else, you’d be berating yourself, but you can’t quite do it. Not yet. Reality hasn’t set in. You’re not sure if it ever will.

Admittedly, the line blurred long before now, so it’s more of a guide; dots, ellipsis. Who are you kidding? That line’s been obliterated.

But still, it matters. It matters because you watched Lauren – radiant and blissfully happy – marry the man of her dreams, Andrew Jacobs, against the backdrop of a perfect April day in South Carolina, under a clear blue sky, surrounded by the heavy scent of gardenias. It matters because you and Amy were her chief bridesmaids, walking down the aisle to the front of a beautifully decorated barn, waiting for Lauren and Bruce to follow on. For a moment or so, the weight of it all threatened to be too much. The assembled guests disappeared; Andrew and his groomsmen, Teddy, Scott, Jeff, and Joey disappeared; the other bridesmaids, Kelsey and Mary-Kate disappeared; it was just you and Amy in those matching lavender vintage dresses, and it was all too beautiful. Then, Amy turned toward you, smiling shyly as you both waited for Lauren and Bruce to appear at the doors. Suddenly, there was no air in that barn at all. You could’ve been marrying her, and the thought, no matter how brief, didn’t send you running for the hills. You’d run to her instead. Quickly. Gladly. Without hesitation. You don’t know when all this became less of a mental leap and more a short hop toward something called the future. The change matters, even if you don’t know when it came.

There’s no marked date on the calendar to reflect it, but it matters.

It matters because you always thought someone like Andrew would be the man of your dreams too. Except, without your notice, that man became a woman; became someone who you’ve loved and adored all your life without really knowing just how much you loved and adored them until last night. It matters because you’re sitting in a huge chair on a veranda, bundled up in an expensive fluffy white robe bearing the name of the farm retreat you’re all staying at. The view is amazing. Beautiful – picture postcard, Thomas Kincade, Bob Ross painting kind of beautiful. It matters most of all because inside, feet away from you, in an equally expensive room, still in bed – and _very_ naked – is Amy.

You’re used to sharing a bed with her, but this is different. It’s so very different to the teenage sleepovers. It’s different to the necessity of sharing because your apartment only has one bedroom. She wasn’t just next to you like she has been for so long now, she was _with_ you. It’s been a long time since you’ve slept in your own bed alone. In fact, you can even remember the day you got her to stop sleeping on the couch with her sweet three-year-old little rescue dog Arnie. It brought about the end of the phase where things still felt kind of still awkward and you were getting used to living with the adult version of yourselves: adults with baggage and responsibilities.

 

_“Amy, you’ve been here for two weeks, it’s ridiculous to still be on the couch. You’re not getting any sleep, and you can’t go to job interviews looking like a zombie.”_

_“Zombie? I was going for pale and interesting … Seriously, Karm, it’s fine. I just need to get used to it is all. You’ve taken me and Arnie in, that’s more than enough.”_

(at that, Arnie skittered across the floor, looking up at you to be petted, and you couldn’t help but pick him up)

_“You’re being stupid. It’s not like we’re strangers. We’ve shared a bed before.”_

_“Looks like someone’s beaten me to the punch!”_

(she nodded, smiling as she indicated Arnie nuzzling into you)

_“It’s a big bed.”_

_“Uh-huh. Room for three?”_

(Amy smirked in this delicious way, and you nodded, flustered, knowing you were blushing)

_“You’re the worst! Come on, it’s late. I can’t stand the idea of you suffering anymore.”_

_“Hardly.”_

(she rose reluctantly from the couch, tagging along behind you, and it felt completely right)

_“Just get in this damn bed!”_

_“Are you this bossy with everyone you invite into your bedroom?”_

_“Just you_ .”

(it was your turn to tease then, winking at her before you climbed onto the bed, taking Arnie with you)

_“Better leave a space between us, I don’t know if I can resist you!”_

(you swatted her away, rolling your eyes at the joke, but it was the kind of progress you thought you’d never make)

You always sleep better when she’s next to you. That first night was no exception.

 

Back then, with the jokes and the teasing, it didn’t feel like much, but it was about more than getting closer to her again. It was the start of the complication; when the lines started to blur. You never talked about how much comfort you got from feeling her arms around you, or waking up at some odd hour of the morning to find her pressed close to you, installed as the big spoon. With hindsight, you can’t help that think it was one of many dominoes that fell in the run to get you to where you are. Her crashing with you was meant to be a temporary thing, just until she got herself settled in Washington and found a place of her own, but days turned to weeks, and weeks to months, and now you split all the bills, go grocery shopping together, and do each other’s laundry.

You can’t imagine living alone anymore, and you're not sure how you ever did. After your work, she and Arnie are your life. Amy is the person you come home to. You’re the person Amy comes home to. She’s the first and last person you see everyday. You give each other kisses of hello and goodbye on the cheek. You take care of Arnie together, like some sort of surrogate child, taking him for walks to the park on rare days off, sitting on a bench coffee in hand, watching him play fetch with Amy like a proud mother. He even has his own little dog bed at the foot of your own.

But now, you might lose all of that. You might be back to living alone, and you might have to confront the truth of all those comments that Amy’s work friends Robyn and Aidan – your friends now too – said about how close and how comfortable you and Amy are. You refused to really talk about it, certain it didn't really matter and no one really understands what you have, but now you really wish you’d been braver and asked her on at least one of the hundreds of occasions it's cropped up when people see you together. Really, the signs have been there all along. What happened last night was inevitable, but that doesn’t mean you’ll just go skipping off into the sunset with her. You’re not about to take anything for granted. Who’s to say that she wants anything more to happen between you? Who’s to say that she’ll even be able to live with you after this? Who’s to say she’s even in love with you anymore? Sex doesn't always have to be synonymous with love.

Except, that requires you to be able compartmentalise your feelings, and you can’t. You’ve never been able to. That’s half the problem. Hell, it’s _all_ of the problem.

Right now, she’s the only thing on your mind. You remember and re-remember her in fragments: the elegant arch of her back. The gold-blonde of her loosely curled hair wrapped around your fingers. The particular shade of green in her eyes that’s so different to yours; the dandelion tattoo that scatters its seeds across her right shoulder blade that her mother doesn’t know about. The softness of her lips and her skin; her hands all over you – knowing, but gentle. The way her body pressed against yours, so close you’re sure you could feel her heart beating, echoing the fierce, loud, unsteady pounding in your own chest.

Yes, she’s more beautiful than the view, and it’s taken you over a decade to see it.

You can’t even blame the champagne for the fact you ended up in bed, because you weren’t even that drunk. You were buzzed, bordering on tipsy, but not drunk. You were drunk on the occasion instead – caught up in it all, soaking up the atmosphere. Everyone and everything radiating love. It sounds ridiculous now, but it felt real enough. Lauren’s happiness was contagious. You watched her and Andrew dance, then her and Bruce, before you were coaxed into dancing with Teddy by Kayla and Mary-Kate, zeroing in on the only other free agent in attendance besides Amy. Of course, she’s who you found sitting alone at the table, champagne in hand, happy to watch, but less happy to give up the photographer's duties in trade for being in the bridal party – was one or the other, not both. Being with her again in that context, you couldn’t help but let go – finally let yourself fall – knowing Amy would be there to catch you. That had always been true, but until last night, you didn't realise how much you wanted to be caught. As she spun you around the dance floor, laughing, the words of her speech for Lauren and Andrew still rang in your ears. It was heartfelt and elegant, in a way you’ve never quite managed to be, adapting the long chats you’d had with each other, Kayla, and Mary-Kate over the last few months into something that was a tribute to your bonds with her. It was for the Lauren you all knew, the Lauren she’d become, and the future that was opening up for her and Andrew.

_“I wish you all the happiness in the world.”_

When Amy delivered those closing words, she wasn’t looking only at Lauren and Andrew. This time, you didn’t fumble with your champagne glass, late to the toast, you smiled, blushing, holding her gaze and giving the slightest nod. Like everything else she said, those words aren't really a surprise, they’re just true. When she says them, it doesn't feel like much has changed at all, but you only have to look at the person Lauren’s become to know that things _have_ changed for the three of you: older, sometimes wiser, but generally better than those girls from Austin, full of dreams but with no idea of who they really were. Now, the high school ice queen is the queen of home renovation – a _Country Living_ ad brought to life. If you weren’t such good friends with her now, you’d find the whole fairytale romance aspect to this nauseating. Andrew is the kind of guy you thought only existed in those crappy airport novels your mom reads. But, Andrew is a genuinely good guy (even though he looks like someone Photoshopped him all the _fucking_ time), and Lauren? Well, Lauren isn’t Lauren Cooper anymore, she’s Lauren Jacobs and there’s a whole world of difference between those two people – not least because you can’t imagine her being with anyone like Liam Booker (yes, you’re there now, he means _that_ _little_ ) or doing any of that ridiculous bitchy rivalry bullshit with Shane anymore. Liam isn't here, thank God, no longer part of your lives and therefore not invited, but you’re kind of sad Shane couldn’t make it. He’s busy these days, building his not-so-little media empire, but you get emails and texts from time to time. Lauren was sad he couldn't come too, but the amazing flowers and the insane gift he got her and Andrew from their list salved the wound.

A large part of you wishes he were here now, in the empty chair next to you. OK, so you know he’d probably sit there with his head in his hands, hyperventilating over the fact you and Amy slept together, or be insufferably loud and smug about the fact he was right about you both all along, but really, you kind of need his brand of overreaction, just so you know you didn’t dream the whole thing. It doesn’t seem real. You know it’s real, you felt it – _God_ you did more than feel it, Amy’s rep with girls is _not_ without substance – but you still can’t believe it _actually_ happened.

Ever since you woke up in her arms this morning, terrified of waking her when you left the bed, you’ve been trying to find the root to all this, the singular moment where it all changed. The exact moment where you started to view her differently, as something other than your best friend. It’s hard because it’s never been that conscious, but all you keep coming back to is the day you went dress shopping in Dallas.

 

_“Lauren, I swear to God, this isn’t Say Yes to the Dress, just pick one! No one will be looking at us anyway, it’s all you.”_

_“No one is upstaging me, honey. Get out here!”_

(and then she emerged from the changing room in that lavender dress, and the world felt like it stopped turning)

_“Oh, Amy.”_

(you heard the chorus of oohs and ahs from Kayla, Mary-Kate, Farrah, and the two saleswomen, but you couldn’t add to them)

_“What? Is it totally terrible? Lauren, if you hate it, tell me now, because this sash thing is annoying as all hell.”_

_“No, no, it’s perfect, you look beautiful.”_

_“You don’t have to sound so surprised!”_

(when she looked over at you for assurance, you could barely speak, your reply mouthed more than spoken)

“ _Amy, it’s … Wow.”_

 

That, you think – no, you _know_ – is the moment you fell in love with her, or, it’s the moment you realised you were in love with her, and that was vastly differently from loving her. The enormity of it hit you all at once, and far too fast. Your Damascus moment was in Dallas at Lulu’s Bridal, and you had no idea how to tell her. You still don’t.

You’ve all travelled a long way – literally, and figuratively. Sometimes you shared the road with them, but mostly, you did it alone. You’ve grown up, but it didn’t mean growing apart like you always feared. Back when you were sixteen, if you pictured Amy at twenty-seven, the girl who gave a very different wedding toast yesterday is pretty much what you would’ve imagined, because Amy always _knew_ herself, even if she didn't quite understand what that meant. However, the girl you see every morning in the mirror is wildly different in the best way, and all it took was a couple of twists of fate to change her and the plans you and Amy made. All it took was one debate club sign-up sheet and Mr Glazer’s annual photography competition to make you rethink them and broaden your horizons. You’re glad, even if it did mean you and Amy spent those longed for college years in different states, zigzagging the distance between them when money allowed, reduced to Skype when it didn’t.

In the end, you found your place in the world, not by singing songs or teaching music like you always thought you might – you only sing in the shower and at drunk karaoke these days – but at Georgetown, as a political economics major, while Amy ended up at Columbia majoring in visual arts. Later, encouraged by her, your mom, your professors, and your roommate Jamie, you decided to stay on at Georgetown, and applied to their law school with her. No one was more surprised than you when you were accepted. In the time you watched Amy bounce around the world taking photographs and filming her way through grad school in London, taking internships and assignments all over the world to make a name for herself with her photographs, you worked just as hard to pass the bar and become a practising lawyer. It’s taken you both eight years to really start making something of yourselves, farther away from Austin than either of you ever dared to dream of, but now you're working your way up to being a second-year associate at Orrick, Herrington & Sutcliffe, and Amy’s a staff photographer for _The Washington Post_ .

She’s been there for your best work days, but she’s there for your worst days too. When you’ve been drowning in file after file of discovery, holed up in the conference room with the other associates, highlighting everything important, fuelled only by coffee and doughnuts. It’s then you realise how important she is to you. Little things, rituals, that have mounted up over time to become big things that really matter. Like the fact she stays up when you work late, just so you’ve seen a friendly face who isn’t someone you work with, even though she has to go on early assignments a lot of time.

 

_“That was the worst day ever!”_

(she started when you slammed the door and threw your keys down in disgust)

“ _Worse than the last worst day?”_

(she turned to you with the sweetest expression, Arnie in her arms, waving his paw in lieu of a ‘hello.’ Suddenly, all the tension in your body dissipated. You couldn’t be mad anymore)

_“Worse. I hate everyone and everything … present company excluded.”_

_“I hope so, because we’ve been waiting up for you. We have beer and pizza with your name on it.”_

(she grinned, leaning back so you could see the coffee table and very late dinner waiting)

_“Oh, Takeout Tuesday! You’re the best!”_

_“So I’ve been told. Come and sit down, get those shoes off.”_

(she beamed, putting Arnie down with a scrap of pizza crust for a treat. Without thinking you rushed toward them, kicking your shoes off even quicker)

_“A beer for the lady.”_

(still smiling sweetly, she looked over at you like you were the greatest person ever to exist)

Suddenly, nothing else and no one else mattered. The case didn't matter, the unopened boxes of discovery you had yet to read, the deposition you scheduled for the morning. You clinked your beer with hers in celebration of surviving the day and reached for a pizza slice.

It felt like you were exactly where you needed to be.

 

Austin hasn’t been home for a long time now, you have a life with Amy and Arnie in Washington, happily sharing your ridiculously small but expensive apartment, but it wasn’t always that way. You’ve spent long periods of time without her, or, without seeing her. It’s taken just as long for your path to cross with hers again. That makes it sound like there was a time where you never talked, or never thought about her, and that’s not the case at all. You still felt tied to her, but the bond wasn’t nearly as suffocating as when you were in high school. Even Jamie, the person you’d call a close friend – no one but Amy is your best friend, even now – isn’t the sum total of your social circle anymore, and that’s not just because she’s doing her own thing in Chicago now, it’s because you realised you’re finally comfortable enough in your own skin to _be_ someone that has a social circle and not worry about how many people are in the damn thing or if you’re at the centre of it. You’re just glad to have people like Jamie, Ross, and Kelly in your life, even if you don’t see them as much now you’re out in the real world, dispersed across the country.

College was really your high school do over in a lot of ways. You worked harder than you did before, but you played harder too. You didn't worry about what people thought if you hung out with guys like Ross and Blake and didn’t date them. You didn’t worry about whether Jamie and Kelly were prettier or smarter than you. None of that mattered like it would’ve in high school. They’re just an awesome group of people who you love dearly. In varying degrees, they helped you to become the woman you are now: Kate Ashcroft. That name is still kind of strange to read on the business cards you carry, and even stranger to hear come out of the mouths of your clients, judges, or your opposing counsel. You’ve used it ever since you started college in a bid to look grown-up and cast off your bohemian past – like shedding a skin. Until recently, it always felt like you were cheating yourself, but now it fits you somehow, tailored, right in a way it wasn't before. You own it, just like you’ve come to own yourself and the skin you live in. Comfortable.

Jamie Sawyer has a lot to do with that comfort level. She, like Amy, managed to get you out of your own head, to make you see what was really important. Sometimes that seeing involved going to talks and seminars. Sometimes it involved sitting next to her and Ross at a student protest or a pride parade, chanting until you were hoarse, because as your mother always told you, the personal is political. Sometimes it involved dying your hair whatever colour of the rainbow Jamie and Ross thought looked good, or getting your nose pierced on a whim because Kelly’s was cool. Sometimes, it involved playing pool, karaoke, TV marathons, party games. Sometimes, it involved dancing and drinking Jamie’s weird cocktail mixes, ending up on the floor with her, sides aching with laughter. Sometimes, it involved a spontaneous kiss when the mood felt right. Sometimes, it meant sleeping with her because that felt right too. You knew, on some level, that there was an attraction of some kind, and she knew that you were curious. There was no big internal debate, no drama. You just realised something you’d been fighting for a really long time: that you could be with girls as well as guys.

You haven’t dyed your hair for a long time, and the nose piercing is gone, but the ones in your ears are still there as a little reminder. When you see how different you all look now – Jamie especially – the pink tips in her hair are now blonde, the band shirts are gone, it makes you feel kind of sad, like that time was some wild reaction to being afraid to try things. The four of you have decided to grow up and behave respectably. That’s just the conservative echo of your grandmother talking, you know, but you really do think it was necessary to do all of that. Amy used to say that too many people are focussed on growing up that they forget how to grow out. Now you know what she means. That period was really about your growing out, testing limits. Not a phase, not an experiment; if it was just that you never would’ve thought about women again, because it was out of your system. It’s not. It’s part of your system. You just finally accepted how complex that system had become.

There’s no kind of tally count or anything, you haven’t consciously gone out of your way to date a guy and then switch off back to girls. It doesn’t work like that. You’ve been interested, for sure, flirted with women in bars, traded numbers a few times, let your gaze linger over Nadia, the receptionist at work, because it’s obvious to anyone with eyes she’s beautiful. You’re not remotely ashamed to admit you have a sizable and equally cliché crush on your boss and mentor, Caroline Beckett – _the_ Caroline Beckett who you read about in law school – Orrick, Herrington  & Sutcliffe’s razor sharp, steely, and _insanely_ (and sometimes infuriatingly) sexy answer to Diane Lockhart. She kind of terrifies you. You’re not sure if you want to be her or be with her, and you’re not alone in feeling like that either. She’s beyond good at what she does, and if you’re half the lawyer she is, you’ll be doing well. The entire office just trails in her wake.

Thankfully, you’re smart enough _not_ to let the whole crush thing get crazy. Hooking up with people you work with is a terrible idea, attempting to hook up with your boss would be an even worse one. You have Levi Thomas, one of the second year associates to thank for that early lesson. Caroline instructed him to show you the ropes, but you’re sure she didn't mean flirting with you by the water cooler and what amounted to sexting during work hours. All that gym time, obsessively trawling YouTube for make-up and hair tips, and your latent discovery of heels and bodycon dresses reaped serious rewards. What can you say? You were lured by the sharp suit, the sharper jawline, and the fact he was a cocky son of a bitch.

Much to your annoyance, for all your personal growth, part of you – a small part – still finds arrogance sexy. It was your first staff party, everything was on the company. He was there, you were there, both drunk, and the venue had a unisex bathroom. It sounds even more sordid in the recall. You can still remember Amy’s voice on the line when you told her, mortified, nursing a hangover on the way to get the morning after pill. She didn't call you out on it, but you could hear the faintest trace of something like judgment in her voice, just like when you did something dumb in high school.

In the end, you were just the latest cute arrival. Once you hooked up, that was it, whatever allure he had was gone. You regretted it immediately, and didn’t know what to do beyond the fact you wouldn’t be doing anything like that with him again. He got pissed, said you lead him on – you’re never being _anyone’s_ booty call – and proceeded to pretend it never happened. To this day, he continues to behave like the biggest asshole on the planet, just because he’s good looking and good in bed.

After the Levi incident, you pretty much swore off men. You always had appalling taste in boys, now history seemed to be repeating itself by letting you choose equally appalling men. Never have you wished more that you were like Amy, settled in these amazing long lasting relationships with these beautiful, smart women you’re too intimidated to go near, like Marisa Johnson, this super sophisticated art student she met at Columbia. She was the first girl Amy dated that you actually liked _and_ liked hanging out with. They dated on and off all the way through college and grad school, outlasting all your flings and misadventures, ending in one of the messiest breakups you’ve ever seen. Amy was heartbroken, you think she kind of still is – you don’t talk about Marisa much, so it’s hard to tell – and you’re not sure what that means.

Does that make you her rebound girl? Maybe you just got caught up in the moment and she’s not sleeping in there, she’s hiding, like you have so many times before.

There aren’t a lot of secrets you keep from Amy, not anymore. History has taught you to trust her better. For a while, you were just so happy to have her back in your life that it didn't even matter you weren’t seeing anyone. Somewhere along the line, Amy became enough, more than. You don’t know how, or when, or even why that is. When your schedules worked, you’d go to lunch with her, switching between your office and hers at the _Post_ . You even started to take her to work parties. It was simple, and easy, and she always wore the plus one label easily, way more socially adept than she ever was in high school. She grew into her skin – her body – and you think and it made her the right kind of confident. The last one she came to was a very different Christmas party, held at another equally fancy bar. You still couldn’t afford the tab. She’d met everyone you talked about over dinner every night before, but this was the first time she got to see Caroline up close, dressed down, no less – her jaw promptly hit the floor. It was a good night, mostly because you spent it with Amy and some of the paralegals, Lori, Sarah, and Joanna, dancing to crappy early 2000s pop and drinking cocktails, happy to let your tab run high because it was on the firm. Toward the end of the night, you ended up on the balcony, flushed, in need of air and a little time away from the music and the chatter and the constant questions about you and Amy, all assuming you were a couple.

 

_“They think we’re dating don’t they? Does that bother you?”_

(the earnest way she looked at you made her seem very young, like another Amy was talking to you)

_“No, not at all.”_

(the speed of your answer came as a surprise to you both)

_“That's not the shots and Beyoncé overload talking, right?”_

(there it was, the familiar sinking feeling that accompanied whenever she dared to press you for any kind of clear answer)

“ _No, it’s the fact I’m not fifteen anymore talking, Aims. If they want to think we’re fucking each other’s brains out, they can.”_

(laughter bubbled up then, and she almost choked on what was left of her drink)

_“What? They can. They’re all gossip vultures anyway. Whatever happens, they’re talking about someone in the office. Screw it, I’ve had worse gossip. You don’t care do you?”_

_“Fuck no. People have never understood us anyway. It’s our lives, we can live them the way we like. For the record, I really like it with you.”_

(the blush you felt radiating off you at her words had nothing to do with the change in air)

Wordlessly, you slid your hand across the balcony railing to cover hers. It was the only answer you could give her. She stayed with you, stayed in your bed, and you never brought up the rumours again, so you’ve always assumed it was answer enough.

 

Few people have made you question everything about yourself like Amy has, and few boys, few men, have lived up to the standard she’s set. Not a standard in terms of romance, because your time faking it was actually much shorter than the horrendous emotional fallout it caused, but more a standard about the kind of people you have in your life – the way they love and care for you. It took you twenty-six of your twenty-eight years of life to find someone remotely comparable, a guy called Michael Petersen – always Mike, never Michael in person – the smooth-talking protégé of Jack Charles, the head of a rival firm, Allen & Overy. Caroline warned you off him immediately, making sure you’d stay focused, but you noticed that Caroline was more than a little distracted when Jack was around. If gossip is to be believed, they have serious history, and you didn’t want to be the one to repeat it, not least because it would mean Amy’s assessment of you as Caroline’s mini-me would be even truer than it already was.

After months of being stuck to Caroline like glue, or trudging through the hell that is bond court, you were finally allowed to take the lead on a case as first chair, and Mike was your opposing counsel. At first, you thought he was just like Levi, cautious after warnings from the other girls at your firm that he was a player; arrogant, shallow, with his perfect hair, and perfect teeth, and perfectly tailored suits. But, when you were in the courtroom it was different. You were impressed, you liked how smart and logical he was. Who knew there was substance underneath all that style? Of course, Jack and Caroline paraded you both around like their prize show ponies. The tension between them rubbed off on you, and you and Mike got into this weird love-hate banter that made you feel a little like Lizzie Bennett. When you beat him, Caroline was the first to congratulate you, seemingly genuinely proud after weeks of bitching at you and riding you hard because she knew you could do better. It felt like you’d passed some kind of test, the training wheels were well and truly off. You had her respect.

Mike, to your surprise, was magnanimous in defeat, offering to take you out for a celebratory drink at an upscale bar you could never afford even the smallest tab in. The drink turned into dinner, dinner turned into walking around the city in the early hours of the morning, talking about anything and everything. You found it surprisingly easy to open up to him, and gradually, he reciprocated. The longer you talked, the more relaxed he became, in all senses of the phrase. By the time you found yourself outside of his apartment building, his shirt was untucked, tie loose around his neck, and his suit jacket was around your shoulders to stave off the December cold. That night, all he got was a kiss on the steps, followed by coffee – yes, really – while you waited for him to call you a cab. You kept bumping into each other of course, but less professionally and more accidentally on purpose. A week after that first dinner, he took you out again, and then there was another date, and another, and 6 months down the line, you found yourself in a functioning adult relationship. So adult in fact, you had your own drawer in his bedroom to keep spare clothes, and a toothbrush in his bathroom. This time, you kept things quiet, not blurring boundaries whenever he would be at the firm to avoid unwanted attention. You’ve learned the hard way that private lives are private for a reason, and you no longer wanted to be the subject of office gossip. The only person you shared it with was Amy, and you really could share it with her, proving just how far you’d come as friends – the closest, closer than you’d ever been before. She was genuinely happy for you. They only met through Skype calls, but her approval mattered more than anyone else’s.

It always has. It always will.

You can say now, with certainty, that if Amy is the first person you’ve truly loved, then Mike was the second. He was the most important thing in your life apart from her and your job for a little over a year. You talked about moving in together, you even imagined taking him to class reunions, and weddings, and whatever else as your plus one, smugly flashing around an engagement ring. Except, all you did was talk about it, because he was a third-year associate, already with an insane workload, and you got less and less time together, reduced to quick fumbles in the back of his car, rushed phone calls, brief texts, one-line emails, snatched moments on breaks in court proceedings on the rare occasion you were in the same place at the same time.

You always expected your heart to break with one thunderous shatter, like it did with Amy that very first time, but it wasn’t like that with Mike; it was a slow erosion, and you felt every second of it – every crack that grew to a faultine, which would ultimately bring about that second breaking. In the end, you wished to be opposite him just so you could see his face for more than five minutes, and that’s no way to live. You didn't want to be jealous of his success, because he’s so good at what he does, but you were, the slutty mistress to his marriage with the law. You didn’t want it to end, and he didn't want it to end, but then the choice was made for you both when he was headhunted by a New York firm. He left because he didn’t want you to make a choice, knowing you needed to stay in Washington. Though deep down, you knew it was for the best, it didn’t hurt any less when you stood in the departure lounge watching his retreating figure through bleary eyes.

Returning to your empty apartment alone, knowing he’d likely never visit again, was the hardest thing you’ve ever done.

It felt like you were there alone for a long time. You threw yourself into your work, until it hurt that little bit less. Weeks turned into months and the only bright spot was a phone call from Amy. No matter where she was or what she was doing, wherever she was in the world, you’d make time for each other. Hearing her voice on the line, laughing at her lame jokes, made it hurt even less.

When you least expected it, on a cold, grey, rainy, miserable September day, she came back to you. The voice on the line became a voice on the other side of your apartment front door. You asked her to come and stay months ago, never believing she’d make it back. Life kept getting in the way.

 

_“Well, you did say I could drop in anytime I wanted?”_

(she smiled, waving adorably, and suddenly the world felt a little less cold)

_“You’re a little late.”_

(you smiled too, matching her, and stepped forward, unsure whether to hug her or not)

_“I brought a friend, I hope you don’t mind?”_

(the dog leash stretching out to her left tugged a few times, and then Arnie appeared, curling around Amy’s leg)

“ _You brought Arnie!”_

(you knelt down, he sniffed you a few times, cautious, but then he seemed to warm to you, coming closer until you reached out to stroke him)

_“You don’t mind? I mean, I couldn’t leave him with anyone really. We’re kind of a package deal.”_

(you stood up, pulling her into a tight hug. Over her shoulder, you could see Arnie watching, tail wagging wildly behind him)

You didn't say anything else. You didn't need to, ushering her inside.

 

Arnie wasn’t allowed, not really. No pets. But, you didn't care. You didn’t care because Amy, and Arnie, and her backpack the size of a small country were in your apartment. She wasn’t in another country you only knew of as a name on a map, or an item on the news. She wasn’t on assignment in the kind of place that needed her to wear a bulletproof vest to increase her chances of survival. She was with you – taller, thinner, and more tired than you’ve ever seen her, but she was there, hugging you right back.

That was the moment Washington felt like home.

You didn't say how much you missed her, or how much you loved her that night, or in the nights after; but you know she felt it all the same. That’s what terrifies you now – and you are terrified, the depth of feeling you have for her is terrifying – is if you let it all out, if you tell her, _I_ and _love_ and _you_ , that it won’t be the ending you want. You don’t even know what fucking ending you want. You don’t want any of this to end at all.

Maybe that’s it. Maybe last night was the ending. The final page in a story that’s long past its deadline. What if there’s nothing else now? What if everything Amy felt for you is gone, just like with you and Levi? What if she grew up and out of your love, just like you and Mike? What if you were destined to love her, but never to stay loving her?

Except, that doesn’t explain the way she looked at you last night all through the wedding reception, or the long walk back to your room, heels dangling from the crook of your fingers in what you can only describe as a happy silence, because it was so much more than comfortable. It doesn’t explain how you stayed awake, side-by-side on the bed, staring at the ceiling, reliving the day. It doesn’t explain the way she kissed you; hard, desperate, passionate, like she didn’t have to hold back or hold on anymore, she could just give.

 

_“Lauren looked so beautiful.”_

(there was a twinge of pain in your voice, and you hated it)

_“And happy. She deserves it.”_

(she looked over then, eyes soft, her fingers twining with yours)

_“Yeah … This isn't how I imagined things would be. I always thought I’d be the first to get married. When do I get what Lauren has?”_

(the moment you said that, on the brink of tears, she squeezed your hand, and you moved closer, craving warmth)

_“Hey, come on, don’t get all sad girl on me!. You’ll find that, I know you will. You deserve that too.”_

(she turned to you then, rolling on her side, closer than you thought she was)

_“I think I already did once, I was just too stupid to see it.”_

(even in the dim light of the room, you saw her eyes widen, brows raised)

_“Karma, what …”_

(there it was, the disbelief. There it was, that familiar heavy feeling you still can’t name)

_“Don’t you think about it? Like what would’ve happened if I said I loved you back.”_

(the words were out before you realised, freed from their decade of dust in your mouth)

_“Oh, no, no, I’m not drunk enough for this Karma.”_

(you felt her stiffen, start to recede, trust erased)

_“I did. I do. I made a mistake.”_

Then, you did the only thing you could do to stop her from leaving and have everything unravel all over again. You grabbed her and kissed her, too hard and too awkward, clinging onto her for dear life. And then, she kissed you back, and you don’t think she stopped until you fell asleep in each other’s arms, hours later.

 

You think you’ll always remember how easily she untied the sash on your dress, so differently from that moment in the store, watching it slide through her fingertips. You think you’ll always remember how you reached over and kissed her to keep yourself from running away again, like you had once before, in another room with her, so long ago, when everything felt wrong. You felt exposed – figuratively, literally – until she kissed you. Back then, you ignored that feeling. You denied how right it felt when her lips touched yours.

This time, you turned off all the thoughts in your head, telling you to stop, telling you that you were still the ugly girl with the braces and the frizzy hair that would never be loved. You stopped thinking, and did want you wanted for the first time in your life. You gave in. She gave in. You gave everything you had.

Perhaps that’s why you feel so strangely empty right now. Hollowed and clean. She took everything, and you gave it, without a moment’s thought.

This time, there was no denial. Only proof. Proof in the way you kissed her; greedy, and reckless, and wanting. Proof in the way you touched her; quick, and rough, and graceless until she took your hands in her own and reminded you who you were with. Proof in the way the world seemed to slow and then stop when her name fell from your lips as you came for the first time. Proof because you made love, and meant it.

Proof because you can’t shake it now. The light of this day isn’t cold, it’s just new.

“So, erm, you haven’t fled the country, that’s good.”

“Jesus, Amy, heart attack much?” you exclaim, hand to your chest, when you turn to see Amy coming toward you, tying her own robe.

“Sorry, there was no easy opener there,” she says, stretching up. “I was going for witty and amusing.”

“As opposed to?” you reply, suddenly compelled to pull over your robe to cover your exposed thigh.

It’s a little late for modesty.

She flops into the chair next to you with a groan. “I don’t know, something like ‘how was it for you?’”

For a moment, you’re not sure whether to laugh or cry. She’s being very adult and composed about this. Everything about her says she’s been awake for longer than you thought. It all feels very controlled. Not like the Amy you’re used to, but then, you’ve never been with Amy like this before, so you wouldn't know how she behaves. You’ve never even been in a situation where you’ve seen girls leaving her dorm room. You did catch her and Marisa in bed once though, Amy was embarrassed enough for all three of you.

She’s certainly not embarrassed anymore, that much is obvious.

“Amy, I …” you begin, barely able to look her in the eye. This is ridiculous. Why the _hell_ does it feel like you’ve body-swapped with your sixteen-year-old self?

“Karm,” she cuts in, leaning forward. “I get it, OK? This is awkward for you. We don’t have to have a big fucking crisis about this. We’re not sixteen. We had sex. It was nice.”

 _Nice?_ That’s what she wants to call it.

“You don’t have to worry about it. I’m capable of sleeping with people without attaching a ton of emotion to it. We were at a wedding. Christ.”

This isn't what you were expecting. How is she being so casual about all this?

“Wait, what?”

Forming sentences is very hard right now.

“Look,” she sighs heavily. “I didn’t want to come out here and start confessing undying _whatever._ Forgive me, but we’ve been here before. Well, not here exactly, but you know what I mean.”

You look down at your feet, growing hot with embarrassment. Yes, you know what she means. She means the kiss in the gym. She means the kiss on the quad. She means the kiss at that shitty motel. She means the kiss in her pool when you got drunk off your ass. She means when she pushed you for a reason to stay. She means ‘not like that.’

“And, I’m not foolish enough to think I’d skip out here and it’d be all sunshine and rainbows, Karma. Not anymore.”

That hurts, but you’re not undeserving. You’re looking for words, and they keep rolling around in your head, things like ‘but it’s different now,’ and ‘I’m not like that anymore,’ but it just sounds weak. You’ve got nothing in the way of a solid defence.

You let out a long unsteady breath, feeling your stomach churn.

“OK, I’ll make this easier, because this has to be hard for you.” At that, you look up, seeing her rake an unsteady hand through her hair. “When we get back to Washington, I’ll finally stop leaching off you, take Arnie and go. I’ve overstayed my welcome. _Way_ overstayed,” she leans forward, as if to stand, gripping the arms of the chair tightly.

“No,” you reply, without thinking, your hand flying out to reach for hers, grabbing hold before she can move. “That’s not what I want. At all.”

She turns to you, softening all of a sudden. “It’s not?”

Ah, that feels more like the Amy you were expecting. You’ve caught her off-guard.

“It’s not,” you echo, licking your suddenly dry lips. She places her other hand over yours, so it’s cradled between both of hers. “It’s just not. I’d never want to you leave.”

“When I woke up and I … it took me a second to see you were outside. I thought you just bailed, and I didn’t want to come out here and have to think about losing you again.

“I didn’t know what to do,” you admit, because there’s little point in lying now.

She laughs a little, relieved. “Makes two of us.”

“I … I don’t know … I.”

She puffs out another breath, choosing her words carefully. “Are you OK with it? Are you totally freaked out? I mean I get it if you are. It’s a _lot_ . We never … before.”

“Yes … No,” you shrug. “I don’t know.”

“But this, it feels different,” she offers.

And then, because you need to give her something like a certainty. “I meant it.”

“Meant what?” she’s leaning closer now, studying you.

“That I made a mistake when I said I didn’t love you,” you let go of a breath you didn't know you were holding. “I was stupid, so _fucking_ stupid. I just couldn't get my head around it. Why me, you know?”

“Why … not?” she asks, shaking her head in disbelief.

“But, last night, I get that,” you swallow hard, feeling your heart start to race. “And it wasn’t a mistake. I wanted it. I wanted _you_ . It just felt …” you tail off, unsure how to end your sentence because Amy’s quiet again, blinking back surprise.

“Right?” as she says it, it sounds like she’s realising it at the same time.

“Yes. Everything all of it.”

This time, she’s silent, so you keep talking, mostly because you’re terrified of the lack of noise. You’d rather she go back to how she was before.

“And if this is where you say you don’t feel that way about me anymore – because you know, people change, and like you said, you can have sex without emotions right? – I’d deserve it, because I hurt you, so much because I was too scared to love you.”

“Karma, wait a second –”

“No, I’ve … No, I need to say this because we’ll never be here again. Right or wrong. I’m still scared. I’m fucking _terrified_ , but the thought of being without you, it’s worse. It’s so much worse. Fuck Nadia, fuck Robyn, and fuck Aidan, they don’t know us!”

“Karma ... “

“I want you to be the person I come home to, I want Takeout Tuesday, I want us to be Arnie’s moms, and I want to take you to every _fucking_ boring work function as my plus one, because you’d make it a thousand times better by being there. I want our life. I want to be with you.”

There it is. Out. The truth. Like a flood.

It’s surprisingly painless, but you’re still shaking, your unease growing as Amy just sits there, looking at you. Tears roll down your cheeks silently.

“Wow, you … _fuck_ ,” she squeezes her eyes closed. “That was really ineloquent. I’m sorry.”

You both laugh a little, and whatever strange tension was there dissipates. She lets go of your hand, and comes to kneel in front of you, hands on your knees, looking up at you.

“I do still love you,” she begins, with a smile. “I always will.”

The answer comes so quickly, so clearly, so without hesitation, you still can’t understand why.

“Always? People say that, but they don’t mean it. I thought Mike meant it. You thought Marisa meant it.”

“ _I_ mean it,” she replies, with same easy simplicity. “I’m not Mike, and you’re not Marisa.”

“I know,” you manage to choke out. “I know that … I just … I don’t wanna ruin this. I ruin everything.”

“Not everything,” she counters. “I know this is a huge deal. I know you’re scared. I’m scared too. But please, Karm, get out of your head. You haven’t done anything wrong.”

“It’s hard.”

She nods sympathetically. “I know, but answer me this - since I came to stay with you, have you been happy?”

“So happy,” you’re smiling through your tears. “The happiest I’ve been in a long time.”

“Me too. I don’t have to try with you. I don’t have to be anything but myself. And, at first, I tried not to go there again, tried not to fall for you again,” she reaches up then, cradling your face, her voice starting to crack, heavy with emotion. “But I couldn’t help it, and that’s because there’s always been a piece of my heart that’s just for you, that no one else can touch. I just want you to know that, whatever happens next.”

You nod, blinking back fresh tears, overwhelmed. You’re not sixteen anymore, and you’ve wasted so much time, but now you know it’s not too late. It’s not too late at all.

“Is it OK if I don’t what happens next?” you ask, quietly. Big speeches are fine, but you don’t know what it will really mean, what she’ll expect of you now there’s something like a label on it. “I just know that I want whatever’s next to be with you.”

She takes your hands in hers again. “Everyone thinks we’re dating anyway, right? This is only a big deal if we make it one. I don’t want things to change either,” she continues, a slight smile tugging at the corners of her lips. “I don’t want to pressure you, but I do want you, I’m not going to lie about that, not anymore.”

Neither are you.

You lean down, closing the small distance between you to kiss her. You only meant for it to be a brief peck, but as soon your lips touch, you can’t help but keep kissing her, letting it linger, desperate to deepen them when lets out a soft, content moan, pushing herself upward to meet you.

She squeezes your hands, starting to pull away from you, and suddenly you remember where you are. Outside. In the open. You can be seen.

“Not here, babe,” she declares, breathlessly, letting go of you completely and standing up. The way she says ‘babe’ sends a thrill right up your spine. “Let's go back inside,” she suggests, holding out her hand for you to take.

She’s right. Amy doesn’t hide herself, not anymore, but she also doesn’t parade herself either. You’ll leave the breakfast table gossip to Teddy and Mary-Kate. You nod, smiling, lacing your fingers with hers, watching how they fit together. You let yourself be led the short distance back inside, reaching behind to close the doors and shut out the rest of the world.

She pulls you closer, hands cradling your face as she kisses you again; slow and searching. “Here,” she whispers, breath hot on your neck as she kisses a slow path downward.

You sigh at the contact, leaning into her. This time, you’re the one who reaches for the ties, working her robe loose at the same time she reaches for yours. She smiles, kissing you again, and again as you both work your way out of them until they pool at your feet.

This time, it’s not so scary and not so strange to step over them and move to the bed. Just like before, she watches and waits, easing you down to the mattress with gentle kisses.

“Here,” you say, smiling against her lips as you wrap your arms around her.

It’s just you and her again. Like it’s always been. Now, you’re not afraid to shut out the world or to crave the peace and quiet she brings you. Now, you welcome it. Now, you finally know what home means. She’s been there all along.


End file.
